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He met Eleanor’s gaze and knew she was recalling the moment when she’d put her hands to the wound and told him he’d be fine, despite them both thinking he might well die. He never wanted to put her through such a thing again but the only way he’d make sure this bluestocking remained out of trouble was to make her his.
“It was not pleasant,” he admitted, “but the damage was minimal, and I am able to survive a few hours sitting down.”
Eleanor eyed him for a few moments, her lips pursed. “You are to go home as soon as they are wed.”
“Already ordering me around?”
“Already?”
Ah. Yes. He had yet to actually ask her to be his wife. He’d better rectify that.
“Will you sit?” Oliver nodded to the chair next to him. “My neck is starting to hurt.”
“Oh.” She hastened to sit next to him.
“I will not take you obeying me for granted. I know you are only doing so because I was stabbed.”
She scowled. “Oliver, are you feeling well? You are talking in riddles I swear.”
He likely was. Actually acknowledging his love for her had turned him into a madman. These past few days, all he could think of was proposing to her and making her his wife. He could picture their future together. She’d spread clock parts all across the drawing room carpet and he’d likely trip over them. Eleanor would get him entangled in yet another investigation. And they’d dance together. All the time.
A life without any of that seemed bleak and pointless.
Dear God, she better say yes or he’d certainly end up in an asylum.
Guests filled the dining hall and flowers were set up on pedestals and arranged on tabletops. The scent of food combined with the overpowering fragrance one of the ladies nearby favored. He waited until the nosy woman moved away from them and twisted slightly to view Eleanor better. He winced.
“Oliver, stay still.” She put a hand to his arm then withdrew it. “You know, I have been thinking—”
“No.”
“Pardon?”
“I do not want to know what you have been thinking.”
“Oh.” Eleanor glanced at her hands.
“That is...” Bloody hell, what a mess he was making of this. “I do not need the distraction right now.”
“I see.” She peered at him as though she really did not, and Oliver did not blame her.
Sighing, he pressed a hand behind him and drew out a wrapped parcel then thrust it out.
“For me?”
He nodded, biting back a barbarian-like grunt. All eloquence had been sapped from him by the mere thought of never having Eleanor as his wife. At the rate he was going, his fears would be realized.
Gingerly, she untied the simple string and pushed apart the brown paper. Her eyes widened when she revealed the clock.
“Oliver...” Her gaze met his and her lips trembled. “Oh it’s lovely.”
He lifted a shoulder and bit back a groan.
“I was thinking...” His throat tightened and he coughed to clear it. “I was thinking it might be an engagement present.”
“For Demeter and Blake?” She looked at them as they moved nearby. “But—”
“No, for you.”
